


Accommodations

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Episode Tag, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 20:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7656280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>June eyed him with a sly grin. “I take it Agent Burke isn’t staying over again tonight?”</p><p>(Episode tag for 1.11.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accommodations

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to mergatrude for beta. <3

The sun was setting by the time Neal got back to June’s, and he was no closer to figuring out how to win Alex over. If he cut his anklet to meet her conditions, he’d have to go on the run—and let Peter down; if he didn’t, she’d have nothing to do with him, and he’d never find the music box and rescue Kate. 

Maybe Mozzie could allay Alex’s concerns; he’d managed to work with Peter, if not the FBI generally, despite his habitual paranoia. Neal would sound him out.

He let himself in the heavy front door. Warm light and cheerful voices were coming from the dining room, and he put his head around the door to find June and Cindy eating dinner together, laughing over their chicken cassoulet, while Bugsy sat on a cushion and monitored them hopefully. Sammy Davis Jr was crooning on the stereo.

“Sorry to intrude,” said Neal, when they looked over. “I just wanted to thank you, June, for yesterday.” For going to the FBI and identifying Pierce, sending Peter and his team down the right path when they could have wasted vital time scouring airports and train stations and been too late.

“You’re very welcome, darling. I’m just glad you’re all right.” June put down her knife and fork. “Have you eaten? I can ask Charlotte to bring another plate.”

“I’m fine, thank you.” Neal came into the room properly. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in my affairs. It won’t happen again.”

“Nonsense. That young woman was all kinds of trouble—it’s hardly your fault.” June eyed him with a sly grin. “I take it Agent Burke isn’t staying over again tonight?”

Neal accepted the change of subject with a quirk of his eyebrows. “He’s found other accommodation… thank God.”

The last was added under his breath, but it still made June laugh. “You did seem to find his presence rather a trial this morning.”

“Yes.” Neal bit back a litany of complaints. It had seemed harmless to invite Peter to stay, but the reality had been annoying on any number of counts, from his unannounced arrival and the careless disregard of June’s furniture to cluttering Neal’s fridge with cheap beer and talking in his sleep. And running Alex’s print.

June’s eyes twinkled with understanding, and even Cindy was grinning, but June just said, “You seem to have a penchant for eccentric companions.”

Neal opened his mouth to ask what she meant, and then stopped. Mozzie. But Peter was nothing like Mozzie—Mozzie understood Neal, had tutored him in the ways of the con. Mozzie—

Neal blinked, remembering coming home some years back to find a live cuttlefish in his bathtub. And the time Mozzie had made half a dozen large jars of kimchi and stored them in the corner of Neal’s living room without asking. And when he put Kate under surveillance because he was convinced she was supplying information to the Secret Service. And the third-rate pai gow movies.

Of course, Mozzie got away with his eccentricities because he was a genius; Peter’s objectionable traits were far more prosaic—deviled ham and commandeering the TV to watch sports at full volume. In fact, aside from Elizabeth, everything about Peter was awkward and pedestrian. But he was smart too, and he was on Neal’s side. He’d rescued him from the Howser Clinic and even stolen a security tape to do it. 

Perhaps Neal had been hasty in kicking him out.

He bid goodnight to June and Cindy and went upstairs. Mozzie was out of town on a mysterious errand, and Neal’s room was silent and empty. Neal stood by the table for a moment, waiting—he didn’t know what for. 

Nothing happened. 

Neal liked being alone. He enjoyed his privacy, the chance to read or draw or do whatever he wanted. To follow his own train of thought without interruption.

He went to the fridge, where half a case of beer still crowded the middle shelf. Well, then.

 

*

 

“Room service!”

The door opened. “I didn’t order any—Neal.” Peter stood there, open laptop balanced on one arm, surprise plain on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I brought your beer.” Neal handed over the offending cans and pushed his way into the room. It was hardly fair of Peter to keep such luxury to himself.

“Hi, Neal,” said Elizabeth from the laptop.

Neal waved to her in the open Skype window. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“You are,” said Peter, still by the door.

“We were just saying goodnight,” said Elizabeth, smiling. “Bye, hon. Talk to you tomorrow. Have fun with Neal!”

“That sounds like we’re having a slumber party,” grumbled Peter, but Elizabeth had already signed off.

Neal clapped Peter on the shoulder and made a beeline for the minibar. He’d skipped dinner. He grabbed a Snickers, and while Peter was huffing about the ruinous charges the candy would incur, Neal flopped onto the couch in front of a grotesquely large television and slid the remote under a cushion. “Watching the game?”

“I was about to.” Peter sat at the other end of the couch and opened a beer, regardless of it not being chilled. He took a slurp and stretched out his long legs, looking more relaxed in the elegant environs than Neal would have expected. “I suppose you happened to be in the neighborhood—”

“It’s inside my radius.” Neal leaned back and crossed his legs, causing the hem of his pants to ride up and reveal the source of so many of his problems. _I need a favor. I need you to remove my anklet for 24 hours, no questions asked._ He thought about saying it, about explaining the situation with Alex and the music box and Kate—but if he told Peter, Peter would have to intervene and stop him. He couldn’t stand by and let Neal steal the box. No, it’d be best for both of them if Neal kept it to himself and found his own way out of the anklet. He sighed and tugged down his pants leg.

“What?” said Peter, watching him.

“Nothing.” Neal dug the remote out from the cushions and tossed it to him. “Let’s watch the game.”

“You’re staying?”

“Don’t have anything better to do.” Nothing legal, anyway. Nothing possible. Neal swiped the room service menu off the end table and flicked through it.

Peter was managing to look suspicious and pleased at the same time. He held out a peace offering in the form of a can of warm beer.

Neal ignored the gesture and countered with his own peace offering: “What time is kick-off?” 

“It’s a Knicks game,” said Peter.

“So?”

“So there’s no kick-off in basketball.” Peter shook his head and started explaining the arcane ecosystem of New York metropolitan area sports teams, and Neal nodded and plotted, once Peter was immersed in the game, to order a steak and a nice red. After all, he’d arranged for Peter to stay in this great room for free; it was only fair that Peter return the favor by springing for dinner.

 

END


End file.
